


Whispers In The Dark

by judes



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judes/pseuds/judes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan and Methos have returned to Paris and to the Barge but it is now time to move on.  But memories lurk ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers In The Dark

All was quiet along the Quai de la Tournelle; the daily puttering of tourists long since moved to join the nightlife of “Gay Paree”. Traffic was a distant murmur. The Seine swirled softly against the concrete supported riverbanks. A darker shadow lay against the night, the long lean shape picked out by mooring lamps. Nothing moved as the night whispered its secrets to any who would listen.

Two bodies entwined upon silken sheets. One deeply asleep, sprawled across his partner in elegant abandon. One still awake; eyes staring through a porthole, studying the way the moonlight glistened water reflected on the glass. Despite an exhaustion of body and spirit, he was unable to sleep. Instead he listened. To the gentle snores. To the swish of water against the steel hull. To the distant murmur of the great city surrounding them. To the whispers in the dark.

Ever since they had returned to Paris, he had known this moment would come. It was time to move on. To make a new life. But though the decision had been made, the execution was proving harder than anticipated.

He shifted slightly, easing a slight cramp where a muscular thigh crossed his. The move elicited an almost inaudible protest. He stroked silky skin, soothing, easing the sleeper into a deeper somnolence.

He thought back over recent months. The challenges of living with another immortal. The challenges of being an immortal in a society designed for mortals. The challenges. He had taken so many heads over the last few years that he sometimes felt that his psyche could hold no more. Was there a limit to the number of Quickenings one immortal could contain? If he didn’t take another for a couple of hundred years, would his capacity have increased as the current “pot” was absorbed or would he continue to find them difficult?

Actually he didn’t want to find out. If he moved on now, he could perhaps achieve a level of anonymity and stay out of the Game. He’d done it before and there were still places in the world where he could disappear.

Coming back to Paris had given him the opportunity to make the break from Seacouver. He’d made a life there with Tessa and afterwards. But for any immortal there came a time when they could no longer stay in one place. The subtle make-up touches only held up to casual scrutiny and good genes only went so far. So the life in Seacouver had been closed down. Properties sold. Valuables put into storage. Goodbyes said.

Now in Paris the same decision, the same process. The barge was sold. The interior stripped down. The final items would be collected and stored.

The memories crowded in. Preventing sleep. Tessa working on a new sculpture. Richie laughing. Amanda wheedling him into another of her scams. Maurice utilising the barge for his laundry. Joe relaxing, sharing a joke with Methos. The memories whispered to him – happy and sad; peaceful and violent; laughing and crying; meditating and arguing; good times and bad times. The barge had been his haven, his refuge, his home.

“Duncan,” the voice was a sleepy murmur. Methos propped himself on one elbow, the other hand caressing Duncan’s chest, fingers twisting through the coarse black hair. He smiled down at his lover. “I can hear you thinking. Are you having second thoughts about all this?” He indicated the packing crates scattered around the barge’s interior.

“No. That’s not it. I’m comfortable with the decision. It’s time. It’s just, lying here, I was just …. remembering. So much has happened in the last ten years, a lot of it here, and I wanted to … kind of … I don’t know exactly ….. maybe imprint it.”

“We’re immortal, Duncan. We don’t forget.”

“I know, love, but I guess I just wanted to remember them here. I will never forget but I won’t ever be able to remember them in situ. The barge has been such an intrinsic part of my life that I couldn’t let it go without keeping vigil one last time.”

“I understand, but you also need to sleep. They will always be with you. Let me see if I can help you relax,” he finished with a grin.

Leaning forward, Methos pressed his lips gently against Duncan’s. The kiss was a caress, a whisper, a promise. Gradually he strengthened the contact as he felt Duncan respond. The fire that burned within them both was never far from the surface and it flared into life as they explored each others’ mouths. 

“Duncan.”

“Yes, love.”

“I want you.”

“You have me.”

Methos growled, low in his throat, as he moved his lips down Duncan’s neck to the hollow of his shoulder, nipping gently. Duncan purred in response, running his hands over the fine musculature of his partner’s back. 

Moving downwards, Methos spent some time licking and nipping Duncan’s nipples but whilst he knew he could drive his partner wild just with this, he had bigger game in mind. And there it was. Nestled in dark curls, rising up to meet him. In one swift lunge, he took the length of Duncan’s penis into his mouth, relaxing his throat, and started a determined assault to drive this man out of his mind.

Duncan grasped the head covering his groin and dug his fingers into the short, fine hairs, indicating his pleasure as he massaged. He knew he wasn’t going to last long. There was no way he could resist Methos when the man turned 5,000 years of experience his way. He could feel the orgasm rising, tingling through his groin, erupting.

Methos swallowed all that Duncan had to give and looked up at his lover, who had collapsed back onto the pillows.

“Enjoy that, did you?”

Gasping, Duncan managed to focus on the words enough to reply, “What do you think?”

“Oh, I think you did.” Methos pulled himself back up the bed and settled next to Duncan.

“But what about you? Let me ……”

“No problem, love, I think I enjoyed it as much as you,” and he indicated the semen splattered across his belly from his own orgasm. He reached down to the side of the bed and grabbed the wet towel he had used for his earlier shower. After cleaning them both, he pulled the cover over them.

“Sleep now, love.”

Gradually, the physical and emotional strain of past weeks caught up with Duncan and his eyes slowly closed. His breathing deepened and his face relaxed. Methos smiled and settled back down, head on his partner’s shoulder, arm across his chest and within minutes he was also asleep.

Hours passed and Duncan slipped into a deeper sleep, his eyelids flickering.

*******************

“Duncan!” The soft voice with a lyrical French accent echoed around the cabinets of the antique store that had been their home in Seacouver for a number of years. “Duncan!!” The call was a little louder and more impatient as its owner made her way towards the stairs leading to the living quarters above.

“I’m here, Tess,” a deep masculine voice responded.

As she reached the bottom step, she seemed to stagger, missing the rail as she grabbed for it. Duncan hurried down the stairs towards her but he felt as if he were moving in slow motion. She looked up at him, her lovely face puzzled, as she slowly collapsed. He reached her at last, crouching with her, to hold her close, as he noticed her pallor and how clammy her skin felt.

“Tess, what is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

“Why, Duncan, why?” she whispered.

“Why what, Tess?”

“Why did you let me die?” 

He pulled back in shock, realising that his hands were covered in blood, her blood. Her eyes closed and her breathing stopped.

“NO!!!”

*************** 

Duncan’s breath hitched as his mind tried to deal with the horror but he didn’t wake.

*************** 

As Duncan approached the antique store, he noticed that the lights were out. This was unusual as it was late afternoon, the sun was starting to go down and he’d left Tessa at home a few hours earlier whilst he ran a few errands. The door to the store was unlocked, the sign indicating that they were still open. Cautiously, he pushed it open.

“Tess?”

Silence. He glanced around the store as he stepped inside. Nothing appeared to be out of place. The glass display cases gleamed even in the dim early evening light, witness to the hard work input by Richie.

He knew Tess or Richie should be in the store. But all that met him was silence. Dust motes danced in the air as he moved further in. He reached the foot of the stairs to the apartment and started up.

“Tess!”

Half way up the stairs, he paused. He listened. There it was again, a muffled groan. Throwing away all caution, he raced up the stairs towards the living area, stopping suddenly on the threshold.

The room had been trashed. Furniture slashed and hurled through cabinets. Ornaments, flowers, china crushed into the fine Persian rugs. But it wasn’t the destruction that was the focus of his attention.

“Tessa!”

She lay in a crumpled heap. His vision blurred, swimming into and out of focus, as his mind tried to grasp the enormity of what he was seeing. 

In two strides, he was at her side, kneeling in the broken glass, and gently touching her face. She was pale, skin clammy to the touch, but she moaned slightly.

She was alive.

Swiftly checking her for injuries, his hands came away from her stomach, sticky and red with her blood. He stared at his hands, transfixed by the horror, then he grabbed a cloth and pressed it to the wound, trying to stem the viscous red stream.

“Mac, Mac? What have you done?”

He hadn’t felt him approach but as he looked up, there was Richie staring at him in horror.

He looked back down at Tessa, at his hands, gripping the katana, at the sword wound in her stomach, and as her last breath slipped away, he knew. He’d killed her. He’d killed Tessa.

****************** 

Duncan moaned and twisted in his sleep, moving away from the warmth and comfort offered by his lover.

****************** 

‘Joe’s’ Bar was jumping tonight. Music poured through the open door into the car park as Duncan slid the Thunderbird into the last vacant space. Joe was just finishing a number to rapturous applause as Duncan pushed his way through the crowd and into the bar.

Slipping through the enthusiastic crowd, Duncan made his way to the bar, pausing as he reached it, to turn back and look across at Joe, still acknowledging the applause. He raised his hand in greeting, catching Joe’s eye and smiling “Hello”.

As Joe looked across the crowded bar, his expression changed to one of horror as he caught sight of Duncan.

“No,” he mouthed, then glanced around.

Puzzled, Duncan started to push his way forward but the crowd was too tightly packed to make much headway. The applause and cheers had faded away as he tried again to force his way to the stage.

Joe was shouting something but he couldn’t make out the words. He grabbed the shoulder in front of him and the man turned towards him, snarling, “Abomination!” Trying now to move back, Duncan found himself pressed from all sides, then his arms were grabbed and he was held in place by four more hostile men. They held him tightly as he tried to break free.

Up on the stage, Joe was also being held by two of the previously enthusiastic crowd. “MacLeod! Get out of here!”

As Duncan struggled, the crowd suddenly parted, letting through a dapper looking blond man. He stopped in front of Duncan and smiled.

“Well, well, well. Look what we’ve got here. The great Duncan MacLeod!”

“Horton!”

Duncan lunged forward, hands scrabbling for Horton’s throat but was pulled harshly back by his captors.

“You’re just in time, MacLeod. We have a traitor to deal with.” With that, he turned away and walked towards the stage, the crowd letting him through.

“Hello, Joe.”

“James,” Joe acknowledged.

“Time you paid for associating with immortal scum.”

Suddenly there was a gun in his hand. Duncan watched helplessly as Horton pulled the trigger. A blossom of red appeared on Joe’s chest, his guards releasing his arms and pushing him back across the stage, where he landed in a heap against the back wall.

The room was empty as Duncan stumbled towards the stage. Reaching Joe, he dropped to his knees, blood pooling and soaking through his trousers. Gently he closed Joe’s eyes. “No more.”

***************** 

Duncan tossed restlessly, head turning backwards and forwards on the pillow, arms thrashing. Methos woke as a flailing arm caught the side of his head. Not wanting to wake Duncan suddenly, he soothed with his voice and stroking the arm nearest to him. Gradually, Duncan’s breathing quietened.

***************** 

He felt powerful, free in a way he had never experienced before. He knew he could do anything at all and nothing would be able to stop him. 

The other immortal was young, far too inexperienced to be a challenge, but his Quickening would be just as sweet.

He teased him, playing with him, all the while knowing that he could take him at any time. His katana slashed, cutting deep into his opponent’s thigh.

The boy dropped to the floor, his eyes pleading. “Just tell me why, Mac?”

As he swung his sword for the final blow, he heard the outer doors of the dojo open but no one could stop him now. There was a slight catch as the sword slipped through skin, muscle, bone and out the other side. 

He looked up and saw Joe Dawson standing in the doorway. Stupefied horror on his face. But Duncan didn’t care. He braced himself for the Quickening.

And it was sweet. Short but intense.

As he stepped back from Richie’s body, he heard the distinctive click of a gun being fired.

****************** 

On the barge, Duncan tossed restlessly and groaned, muttering.

Nonsense words, endearments, soothing sounds as in easing a child from a bad dream, Methos had used them all each time Duncan had cried out. But each time it had taken longer for him to regain the restful sleep he so desperately needed. Methos, however, was determined that Duncan would know that he wasn’t alone, that there was still hope in his world.

Methos drew Duncan into his embrace, settling his partner’s head on his shoulder, so he could continue to stroke his hair.

****************** 

The old race track loomed out of the darkness; concrete pillars, supporting the long disused stands, now hid cave-like portals to the underside. Rain was falling in increasingly heavy sheets, adding to the discomfort and eeriness of the situation. MacLeod screeched the car to a halt next to Richie’s bike. He practically threw himself out of the vehicle, leaving the door wide open, as he desperately tried to catch his protégé. 

Once inside, he paused, listening. The rain beat down incessantly, initially drowning out all other sounds. As he strained his hearing to its limits, he thought he heard voices. Believing they came from his left, he moved cautiously in that direction. The light gradually changed, brightening somehow though there were no lamps, until he could make out the abandoned concession stands and an escalator. Which was moving. Downwards. Towards him. 

Red mist swirled.

******************* 

Groaning faintly, he turned restlessly in the grip of the nightmare. He knew what came next and knew there was no way to avoid it.

******************* 

Methos also stirred, recognising his partner’s distress, but, as yet, unaware of the cause.

******************* 

A familiar figure appeared at the top of the escalator, coming towards him. MacLeod drew his katana and prepared to face a foe he had already defeated. His movements seemed to slow as Kronos confronted him once more. 

The red mist thickened, deadening all sound.

The nightmare continued. But it wasn’t a nightmare. It was all too real. Instead of facing one opponent, MacLeod turned swiftly to face Horton. He was surrounded but he utilised all his skill to battle his foes; twisting, turning, meeting their swords with his own.

Suddenly there was a new opponent – Richie – but MacLeod fought on. He’d been fooled by Ahriman’s illusions before but not this time. This time he would finally defeat the demon. The battle intensified and the red mist swirled.

*************** 

The restless tossing ended in a heart wrenching cry of “Richie!” Methos now knew which part of the recent past was disturbing Duncan’s sleep. Gently he stroked the long dark curls off MacLeod’s face and whispered quietly into his ear. Slowly the tension faded, restful sleep easing in to take its place.

For a short while at least.

***************** 

Methos was walking along the Quai. Duncan watched him from the barge. He saw the moment his partner registered the “buzz”. Just a slight stiffening of his spine, almost unnoticeable, but enough to tell Duncan that there was another immortal in sensing range. He scanned the surrounding area but could see nothing. Methos had stopped, slowly turning in a complete circle, as if he too was having difficulty establishing the direction of the threat.

Suddenly Methos stilled and, at the same moment, Duncan spotted the challenger just inside the tunnel under the Pont de Tournelle. There was a shout but he couldn’t decipher the words and then Methos moved to intercept the dark man.

Duncan felt as if he was frozen to the spot as he watched his partner. Then he felt it. Another immortal. This one approaching from the opposite direction but also totally focussed on Methos. Realising that his lover was about to face two opponents, Duncan raced down the gangplank and onto the Quai.

Methos had engaged the first challenger, driving him back into the tunnel with a flurry of aggressive blows but the second one was now moving quickly to intercept the pair.

As his feet hit the concrete, Duncan felt the presence of yet another immortal. This one was behind the fighters, further into the tunnel. Duncan could tell the moment at which Methos realised he was facing three opponents and he manoeuvred so he could see all three.

“This is not a fair challenge,” the deep baritone echoed under the bridge.

“Whoever said this was a challenge,” retorted one of his opponents.

“This is more of a vermin hunt,” said another.

“With you as the vermin,” said the third.

Duncan realised that even though he was running, he wasn’t making any progress towards the fight. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get closer.

All he could see was Methos engaging all three challengers. The images were sharp, imprinted on his brain. The fight seemed to be taking place as a series of vignettes: Methos gutting one opponent; Methos disarming a second; Methos losing his footing; Methos losing his head ………….

Everything suddenly speeded up and Duncan found himself standing over his lover’s body. The head about two feet away, the glorious hazel eyes dulled, the expression one of surprise. And as he swung the katana in a wide defensive circle, the opponents were no longer there. Just an echo of swords clashing. And Duncan looked down and felt himself falling, grief crashing over him ……

**************** 

The scream echoed through the barge and Methos woke to a sobbing MacLeod.

**************** 

After this last nightmare, Methos pulled Duncan back into his arms, spooning up behind him, right arm across his chest and right leg holding down powerful thighs. This time nothing was going to disturb their sleep. His mouth against Duncan’s ear, he whispered again, this time of love, passion, hope, faith and trust in the man he held. He spoke of the future, their future and not the past. He spoke of their current plans, of his determination to support Duncan through this and any other crisis. There would be no running away. Commitment had been made on both sides. 

The nightmares would come again but not this night. The memories would never fade but the good would outweigh the bad. 

Duncan was safe, wrapped in love. With a soft sigh, he instinctively turned to face the man holding him and settled into the deeper levels of sleep where peace awaited and he smiled as his dreams were once more of the man who held him safe. 

Methos pulled the sleeping man even tighter into his embrace, the relaxed body fitting easily against his, as he too finally closed his eyes though still standing guard over the man he loved.

And as the Seine continued to swirl against the sides of the barge, the only whispers in the dark within the circle of protection created by two strong arms were the echoes of contentment, of passion, of need, of succour, of nurture, of caring, of love.

 

End


End file.
